"Yes, but I don't know how much longer she and Florrie will be here. Tish has already phoned the airline. They'll probably leave this weekend."
After Celia had driven away, Qwilleran walked around the barn exterior several times and pondered a few more questions: Does Tish want to leave the country in a hurry for reasons other than those stated? Is there really a doctor in Switzerland who has a miracle cure? Is Florrie actually as ill as she appears to be?
After the shocks, successes, and surprises of the last twenty-four hours, the next forty-eight were consistently disappointing. Operation Whistle came to a sudden standstill; Polly upset the plans for opening night at the theatre; and Qwilleran's imaginings about lurid secrets at the Trackside Tavern were squelched.
Wednesday morning: He ran into Roger MacGillivray at Lois's Luncheonette, and the reporter said, "Hey, Arch told me to check out what happened at the Trackside Tavern ten years ago. Women boycotted it because they weren't allowed to use the pool tables."
"Is that all?"
"That's all. They picketed the bar for a couple of weeks and then got a better idea. They opened the Jump-Off Bar and went into competition with the Trackside. The food's better, and the owner is a buxom, fun-loving gal that everyone likes. Floyd lent her the dough to get started and helped her to get a license."
"I've been to the Jump-Off establishment," Qwilleran said, "and I don't remember seeing any billiard tables."
"Right! I asked the boss lady, and she said the women didn't want to shoot pool when no one told them they couldn't. She considers that a big laugh."
Qwilleran huffed into his moustache. "Well, I suppose I'll see you at the play tomorrow night."
"I'm afraid not. We'd have to hire a baby-sitter, and that costs more than the tickets. Besides, Sharon's the Shakespeare nut, not me."
Wednesday afternoon: Celia phoned. "I won't have anything to report tonight, Chief.
They didn't need me at The Roundhouse. Tish is there with Florrie. They're getting ready for their trip. I went to the hospital, and they've got Eddie trussed up like a mummy and hooked up to tubes and bottles. He doesn't look like anything human."
Wednesday evening: Qwilleran telephoned Polly to inquire about Bootsie.
"I'm bringing him home tomorrow," she said. "If you don't mind, I'll stay with him instead of going to the theatre. You can go and concentrate on your review. I'll look forward to reading what you think of the production."
With a hint of annoyance he replied, "What I think about it and what I say about it in print aren't necessarily the same. I don't need to remind you this is a small town."
Thursday morning: Celia called again, saying somberly, "Eddie isn't expected to last the morning. The hospital notified Tish to come right away. I'll meet her there and let you know what happens."
Thursday afternoon: "Chief, I have sad news. Eddie passed away at ten thirty- seven. Tish is in Pickax, and I'm looking after Florrie, but I'll be back in time for the play."
A gala crowd attended the opening of A Mid- summer Night's Dream. There was excitement in the hum of voices in front of the theatre, in the foyer, and in the upstairs lobby. Half of the playgoers were friends, relatives, or classmates of the young extras. The rest were people; Qwilleran knew. Among them:
The Comptons. "Where's Polly?" they asked him.
Hixie Rice and Dwight Somers. They too wanted to know why Polly was absent. Dr. Diane Lanspeak with Dr. Herbert, Hixie's former attachment. As luck would have it, both couples had tickets in the same row.
Celia Robinson with her new friend, Virginia Alstock. Celia and Qwilleran exchanged discreet nods.
Dr. Prelligate of the Moose County Community College with a few faculty members.
Scott Gippel, the worried treasurer of the club. "Looks like we'll end up in the black, but you never know."
Three generations of the Olsen family. Jennifer Olsen was playing Hermia.
Amanda Goodwinter, alone. "I hate this play, but Fran's directing it, and she gave me a ticket."
Qwilleran met his guests in the upstairs lobby: Arch and Mildred Riker and Mildred's daughter, Sharon, who had driven in from Mooseville to use Polly's ticket.
"What's with Polly?" Riker asked.
Qwilleran described the situation. "Look here, Qwill! We've got to do something about your most favored friend. She's not herself these days. I realize how she feels about Bootsie, but her house is driving her batty. A sister of mine once had a nervous breakdown over the remodeling of her kitchen. What can we do about Polly?"
"I wish I knew. To make matters worse, her builder died this morning."
The lobby lights blinked, and they took their seats in the fifth row.
The play was wildly acclaimed. The audience applauded the students dressed as lords and ladies, as they made their entrance down the central aisle. Derek Cuttlebrink and the crew of rude mechanicals brought down the house, as expected. The greenies with their weird makeup and robotic movements stole the show, however. Meanwhile, the Shakespeare buffs waited for their favorite lines: I am amazed and know not what to say... The course of true love never did run smooth... What fools these mortals be!
As the king of the greenies delivered his line, I am invisible, and disappeared in a puff of smoke, Qwilleran heard the wail of a siren passing the theatre. It always alarmed him; he thought of fire. Then it faded away in the distance beyond the city limits. Moments later, he heard the honking of the rescue squad's vehicle. Then, just before intermission, Riker's beeper sounded, and the publisher, sitting on the aisle, made a quick exit to the lobby.
As soon as the first act ended, Qwilleran hurried up the aisle and found Riker in front of the telephone booth.
"Qwill, there's been a bad train wreck - south of Wildcat. The city desk is sending a man, but I think I should go, too. Want to come along? Sharon can take Mildred home."
The two men missed the second act. As they pulled out of the theatre parking lot, Riker said, "I'm taking you away from the play, and you have to write a review for tomorrow's paper."
"That's all right," Qwilleran said. "I know what I'm going to say about the first act, and I'll wing it for the second."
Outside the city limits Riker drove fast, and conversation was terse.
"Roger's baby-sitting. He'll be sorry to miss a hot story."
"Yeah... well..."
"Who's on tonight?"
"Donald. The new guy."
"He's getting his baptism by train wreck. Wonder what kind of train it is."
"Freight is all they pull on SC&L."
"Northbound or southbound?"
"They didn't say."
Reaching the town of Wildcat, they noticed unusual activity. The hamlet consisted of a general store, bar, gas station, and antique shop, with railroad tracks running parallel to the main street. People were milling around the intersection or standing on the tracks and staring to the south. Riker had to sound the horn to get through. "It's supposed to be a half-mile south of town."
"If you remember the Party Train," Qwilleran said, "the tracks veer away from the highway south of Wildcat. We saw views from the train that we'd never seen before."
It was still daylight but overcast, and a strange glow lighted up the gloom ahead of them. As they rounded a curve, they found the highway blocked with police vehicles, ambulances, and fire trucks. A few private cars were parked on the shoulder, their occupants gawking at the emergency equipment. Riker found a space, and they walked toward the center of activity. As soon as an ambulance was loaded, it took off for Lockmaster or Black Creek, and another took its place. All surrounding towns had responded. Medics running into the woods and stretcher bearers come back from the wreck had to push through underbrush, although rescue personnel with axes and chain saws were frantically trying to clear a path.